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BY JAMES VAN NESS. PUBLISHED Every Thursday morning, in the “ Granite Building ,” on the corner of Oglethorpe and Randolph Streets. TERMS: Subscription —ihrae dollars per annum, payable in advance, three dollais am) a half at the end of six months, or four dollars, (in all cases) where pay ment is not made before tne expiration of the year. No subscription received for less than twelve months without, payment in advance, and no paper discon tinued, except at the option of the Editor, until all arrearages are paid. Advbrtufments conspicuously inserted at one dot” lar per one hundred words, or jess, for the first in sertion, an I fifty cents for every subsequent contin uance’ Those sent without a specification of the number of insertions, will be published until ordered out, and charged accordingly. 2. Ye.yri.y Advertisements. —For over 24 and not exceeding 36 lines, fifty dollars per annum ; for over 12 and not exceeding 24 lines, thirty-five dol lars per annum ; lor less than 12 lmes, twenty dol lars per annum. 2. All rule and figure work double the above prices. Lecal Advertisements published at the usual rates, and with strict attention to the requisitions of the law.’ Act Sales regulated by law, must be made before •he court house door, between the hours of 10 in the morning and four in the evening—those of land in the county where it in situate; those of personal property, where the letters testamentary, of admin istra’ion or of guardiaaxqip were obtained—and are reqoiied to be previously advertised in some public gazette, as follows: Sheriffs’ Sales under regular executions for thir ty days ; under mortgage li fat sixty days, before the day of sale. Sales of land and negroes, by Executors, Adminis trators or Guardians for sixty days before the day of sale. Sales of personal property (except Negroes) forty days. Citations by Clerks of the Courts ol Ordinary, upon application for letters of administration, must be pub lished foi thirty days. Citations upon application for dismission, by Kxec utors, Administrators or Guardians, monthly for six months. Orders of Courts of Ordinary, (accompanied with a copy of the bond or agreement) to make titles to land, must be published three months. Norices hv Rxecutors, Administrators or Guardians, of to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell the find or negroes of an estate, fair months. Notices by Executors or Administrators, to the debtors and creditors of an estate, for six weeks. Sheriffs’, Clerks of Court &c. will be allowed the usual deduction. O’ L otters on business, must be post paid, to entitle them to attention. RECOVERY OF A FEMALE AFTER EX ECUTION. The following account of the case of n poor girl who was unjustly executed in 1766, is given by a celebrated French author, as an instance of hie injustice which was often com mitted by the equivocal mode of trial used in France: “About seventeen years since a young peasant girl, possessed of a very agreeable ligure, was placed at I’aris in the service of a man depraved by all die vices consequent on Ihe corruption of great cities. Smitten with her charms, I e tried every method to seduce her; but she was virtuous, and resisted. The prudence of ibis gi l only irritated the passion of Iter master, who not being able to make her submit to bis wishes, determined on the most black and horrible revenge. He secretly con veyed into her box many th’ngs bekmgino’ to him, marked with Ins name, lie then ex c'aimed that be was robbed, called in a com-* missaire, (a ministerial officer of justice,) and made bis deposition, The gill’s box was searched, and die things were discovered.— The unhappy servant was imprisoned. She defended heisell only by her tears; she had no evidence to prove that she did not put the properly in her box; and the only answer to the intenogalories was, that she was innocent. The judges had no suspicion of the depravity of the accuser, whose station was respectable, and they adunnis.eicd the law in all its rigor; a rigor undoubtedly excessive, which ought to disappear from our code to give place to a simple but certain penalty, which would leave few'er crimes unpunished. The innocent girl was condemned to be hanged. The dreadful office was mi ffictually performed, as it was the lirsl attempt of the son of the great exe cutioner. A surgeon had purchased the body lor dissection, and it was conveyed to his house. On that evening, being about to open the head, lie perceived a gentle warmth about the body. The dissecting-knile fell from bis hand, and be placed in bis bed Iter whom he was about to dissect. Uis ellbrts to restore her were effectual; and at tbe same time be sent for a priest, on whose discretion and ex perience he could depend, in order to consult with him on this strange event, as well as to have him lor a witness teller conduct. The moment the unfortunate girl opened her eyes she believed herself in the other world, and perceiving tbe figure of tbe priest, who bad a marked and majestic countenance, (for 1 know him, and it (tom him ti nt 1 have this fact,) she joined iter bands tremblingly, and exclaimed, • Eternal Father, you know my innocence, have mercy on me !’ In ibis manner she con tinued to invoke the ecclesiastic, believing, in her simplicity, that she beheld her God.— They were long in persuading her that she was not dead —so much bad tbe idea of pun ishment and death possessed her imagination. Nothing could be more touching and more expressive than ihe cry of an innocent being, who thus approached towards bint whom she regarded as her Supreme Judge; and inde pendently of her affecting beauty, this single spectacle was sufficient to create the most livelv interest in the breast of an observing and sensible man. What a scene lor a painter! What a moral for a philosopher! What a lesson for a legislator! “ The process was not submitted to anew revision, as was stated in the Journal de Paris. The servant having returned to life, recog nized a man in whom she had adored, and who, directing her prayers towards the only adorable being, quitted tiie house of the sur geon, who was doubly unquiet on her account and his own. Site retired to hide herself in a distant village, fearing to meet the judges or the officers, who, with a dreadful tree, inces santly haunted her imagination. The villian ous accuser remained unpunished, because his crime, though manifest to the eyes of the two individual witnesses, was not so clear to the eyes of the magistrates and the laws. The people subsequently became acquainted with the resurrection of the girl, and loaded with repr. aches the execrable iauthor of her misery; hut, in this immense city, his offences was soon forgotten, and the monster perhaps still breathes; at least, he has not publicly suffered the punishment which he deserves. A book should be published containing a collection of cases in which innocent persons have been punished, in order, by showing the causes of error, to avoid them for the future. Perhaps some man of the law may undertake this imporiant work. An Irish gentleman thus addressed an in dolent servant, who indulged himself in bed at a late hour in the morning: “Fall to rising! you spalpeen, fill to rising!—Don’t stand there lying in bed all day!” Rcnkini* foh in Office.— a fellow was seen running up Front street, when a friend inquired. “ W hat are vmi running for?” “I am running for an office.” “What office?” •‘Squire Rowley's—d——n it, I’m sued!” THE COLUMBUS TIMES. THE LAST TEAR I BY ROBERT JO*ELTX. The Ja~t tear I shed, was the warm one h*t fell, As I kissed thee, dear mother, and bade thee farewell; When I saw the deep anguish, impressed on thy face, And felt, fir the last time, a mother’s embrace : And heard thy choked accents, impassioned and wild, God hi ess thee foiever, God bless thee, my child! I thought of my boyhood, thy kindness to me, W hen younge.-t and dearest, I sat on thy knee ; Os thy luve to me'ever bo fondly expressed, As I grew up to manhood, unconscious how blest; Os thy praises when right, and thy eludings when wrong, W iuie wayward with passions unyielding and strong. I thought of thy counsels, unheeded or spurned, As mirth had enlivened or anger had burned, And how, when by sickness all helpless 1 lay, i hou didst nurse me and soothe me by Light and bv day; llow much I had been both thy sorrow and joy. And mv feelings o’erflowed and wept like a boy. Years, years of endurance have vanished, and now There is pain in my heart, there is care on my brow > The visions of hope and of fancy are gone, And cheerless, I travel life’s pathway alone. Alone! aye, alone, thougli some kind ones there be, 1 iiere are none here to love me, to love me like thee. My mother, dear mother, cold-hearted they deem Thy offspring, but oh I I am not what I seem ; Thouyh, calmly and tearless, all changes 1 bear, Could they look in my bosom the feeling is the.e! And now. sad and lonely, as memory recalls The blessing at parting, again the tear falls. II illy Sjuiiigs, (Miss.) Jan. 31, 1841. From the Knickerbocker. NEAMATHLA, TIIF. HEAD CHIEF OF THE CREEK INDIAN NATION. Alter General Jessup had reduced the Creek naiA’> in 18J36, or supposed he had reduced them, a general amnesty was proclaimed, with a view to negotiate for emigration. The In dians were permitted and invited to approach the camp of the army, and intermingle with the white population. They ranged at large, unarmed, among the troops, and in the coun try round. It could not at once be ktuwn who had submitted, for the purooseof emigra tion. Those who were still hostile in their feelings, were encouraged to approach, with the more friendly, in the hope of persuading them to comply with the treaty stipulations, which had been broken in the recent war. Among those who had given up to emigrate, were two daughters of Neamathla, young and unmarried. They were the idols of the old chief’s heart. He himself was not the man to surrender, nor to comply with the terms which had been prescribed to his people. The head of the nation ; great in council great in war, indomitable in spirit; knowing and com prehending the injuries of his race, without being able to appreciate the reasons or views of the white man; he was animated by all those sentiments which are most approved and admired in all true patriot-', the world over.— lie had aroused his people to arms; they had fought, and been conquered; and he now heard in Ins hiding place that his children, his daugh ters, had been persuaded to emigrate. He resolved at once that those so near and dear to him should not be thus violently and cruel ly severed from his society, while he remained to die alone, with none to close his eyes, and wail over his grave. Laying aside the emblems of his chieftain ship, and disguising himseif in the garb of the most common Indian, lie mounted a peney, and rode into the camp, where the Indians were roaming at large, in search of his daugh ters, He found them, and tiie following dia logue ensued: ‘My children, ’ said the chief, ‘it has grieved me to hear that you have consented to go, and leave your lather to die alone.’ ‘Our lather knows,’ said the eldest gir;, of about eighteen years, ‘ that the white man is here, and that the blood of our people has run into the rivers. Nor did we know until this happy hour that tho blood of our father had not gone with them to the great sea, to make it red. What, father, can we do !’ The blushing, burning cheek of the maiden told the deep sympa'hy she felt for her race, and the more tender anxiety for a parent whose resolves she well knew could not be broken by her entreaties. ‘My child!’ said the chief—standing erect, and fixing his piercing eye upon her, while the younger sister sat mute and abashed, with equal concern—‘my child! will you then leave me !’ ‘No, father!’ said the yielding and dutiful girl, throwing herself at ids feet. ‘No, lather!’ said the younger, casting herself into the same position. ‘And where shall we ffy!’ asked both, together. ‘ Yonder is my pony,’ said the chief; ‘mount with me, and 1 will soon bear you away !’ In a lew moments, Neamathla, with one of his daughters before, and the other behind, on tiro same beast—a sight not unusual, at least not very remarkable among the indians—was seen wending his way out of the Indian en campment. Disguised as his person was, his well-known lace could not be concealed, though the marks of sorrow had changed it. None arc more treacherous than the Indians to each other, when once their hearts are gained or bought over to another party. Ne amathla was recognized; and a runner was soon on his way to announce the fact to Gen. Jessup, that the chief of the nation had just been seen, bearing off his two daughters. Great endeavors had been made to find and bring over Neamathla, but in vain. It was known, too, that the nation would be reluctant to emigrate while he was left behind. Orders were immediately issued by the General to have the old man tracked, arrested, and brought back. The mission was successful. With no power to resist, the chief was forced to yield to the rude assaults of his own people ; and it was soon announced to General Jessup, that Neamathla and his daughters were at Fort Mitchell. Desirous of making an im pression of his power, as well as of a friendly disposition, the General ordered the most pom pous military display that could be made, erected a sort of military court, took his seat at the head of it, and ordered the chief into his presence. Erect, unmoved, apparently not noticing the beat of drum and the signs of power with which lie was surrounded, the venerable chief, in charge of a military escort, walked firmly! into the presence of his judge, and faced him, without turning his eye to any other person or object. Ills deportment was that of one who felt that his judge was on trial, and Xeamathla was there to call him to account. He waited not to be questioned, but opened the corn”, himself the questioner. ‘ls this the chief of the white men V said he, addressing himself to Gen. Jessup, through an interpreter. The General, not a little annoyed at the position in which he found himself at this sud den and unexpected opening of the conference, was obliged to say, ‘ Yes.’ ‘I wish, then, to know,’ said Neamathla, ‘what the chief of the white men proposes to do with me!’ ‘ To treat you kindly,’ said the General, ‘and to request that you will comply with the trea ty, and move towards the setting sun with COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 22, 1841. your people, where our great father, the Presi dent, will spread over your nation his wings, and protect you.’ ‘ The chief of the white man is a fool!’ said Neamathla. The soldier General, a little discomposed and nonplussed at this reply, and unable to change the relative position of himself and liis antagonist, without defeating his main design, was compelled to bear this imputation as well as he might. He attempted to reason with Neamathla with assumed, and doubtless with real, kindness. ‘The chief of the white man is a fool!’ re peated Neamathla, still throwing himself back on his reserved dignity, and awaiting what might ensue. General Jessup still labored to convice his captive of the propriety and necessity of sub mitting to the terms of the treaty; but he re ceived only for answer, * The chief of the white man is a fool!’ At length the General asked Neamathla what he would desire. ‘ Neamathla was the enemy of the white man; he is the enemy of the white man; and always will be the enemy of the white man. Were Neamathla the chief of the white man, sitting there, and the chief of the white man Neamathla, standing here, Neamathla would lift his hatchet on the head of his enemy, and strike him to his feet. The chief of the white man is a fool!’ ‘ 1 am commanded by our great father,’ said the General, ‘to treat you with kindness.— Give me your word of honor that you will stay in the camp, and you shall be permitted to go at large, as you see your people do, ?.nd eat out of our dish.’ ‘ The chief of the white man is a fool!’ said Neamathla. ‘Set me free, and I shall not stay here. But I will roam the land of my fathers with a free and unshackled limb; 1 will summon the last warrior to vengeance on our enemies; I will never submit; and will starve only for lack of the blood of the white man to drink. The chief of the white man is a fool!’ ‘ But there are your daughters ; do you not love them V ‘Neamathla loves his daughters, as everv man does, lias he not proved it, by coining into the white man’s camp, and taking them away 1 lie knows not what will become of them, when a father’s arm can no longer de fend them. But their father trusts in the Great Spirit,’ said he, pointing to heaven.— He paused and looked upon the ground. Then turning, and glancing through the crowd, he asked, as if they were near, ‘ Where are the daughters of Neamathla 1 Neamathla can answer for them, that they will he happy only in obeying a father’s voice. The lies of the white man deceived them.’ Neamathla refusing to give his word of honor, was of course kept under guard till the nation were prepared to remove, though al lowed every indulgence which the safe-keep ing of his person would warrant. He talked little, seeming to feel deeply and poignantly the ignominy of his confinement, and the helpless ness of his condition. His daughters tenderly ministered to all his wants, and endeavored affectionatly to console him. But a sense of his people’s wrongs, and of humbled, crushed pride, had taken full possession of his lofty spirit The chain wore in upon his soul; and before the emigrating nation had left the land of their fathers, being on their march, Nea mathla breathed his last, from the mere action of grief and sorrow, and was buried, as he had resolved to be, under the soil which his people once called their own, bestowed, as tliev pi ously said, by the. Great Spirit When we hear or read of the barbarities of the savage, wo lose our sympathy for his wrongs. He is the aggrieved [tarty, and pro secutes war according to his own modes. He knows no other. Their policy in war is ex termination, because, judging from the feelings of their own race, while an enemy breathes, they are not safe. Universal and indiscrimin ate massacre is with them deemed a necessity for self-preservatian. They fear tho white man, and never fight him till goaded on by a sense of injury, and by desperate madness.— It is proper for us to consider, that the Indian tribes who venture into war with us, fight for their soil, for their homes, and for their free dom, and for nothing else ; which all men do, which we would do, and which airmen would be despised for not doing. They are the weaker party, and in our power, and we dispose of them as we please, for the extension of civili zation. When great men, by nature great, endowed with powers which the world is con strained to admire, die by mere restraint on their freedom, and by a sense of wrong done to themselves and their people, without being able to see any excuse, as was doubtless the case of Osceola and Neamathla, we do addi tional wrong to our common nature, to ascribe to such spirits any baser motive than love of country and of kindred. Either of these men, had they been born to move in the higher spheres of civilization, might have won a “’Na poleon's fame, or a Caesar’s honors, though we pretend not to commend or justify tho career of the one or the other. We speak simplv of talent; of those native endowments which will ever command the respect and admiration of the world. The Duke and Dutchess of Marlbo rough.—Two anecdotes are told of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, which we think highly characteristic of this singularly and highly gifted couple. None of the Duchess’ charms, when they were at their proudest height, had been so fondly prized hv the poor Duke, her husband, as her splendid head of hair. Therefore one day, upon his offendum her, by some act of disobedience to her ‘sow ereign will,’ the bright thought occurred as she sat considering how she could plague ban most, that it would be a hearty vexation to see his favorite tresses cut oft. Instantly the deed was done; she cropped them short, and laid them into an ante-chamher he must pass through to enter her apartment; but to her cruel disappointment, he passed, entered, and repassed, calm enough to provoke a saint, neither angry nor sorrowful, seemingly quite unconscious both of his crime and his punish ment. Concluding he must have overlooked the hair, she ran to secure it. Lo! it bad vanished and she remained in perplexity the rest of the day. The next as he continued silent, and her looking-glass spoke the change —a rueful one—she began to think she had for once done a foolish thing. Nothing more ever transpired until after the Duke’s “death, when she found her beautiful ringiets care fully laid bv in a cabinet where he kept what ever he held most precious. We deem this almost affected. What an adorable vixen she must have been! The Duchess survived her illustrious hus band not iess than twenty-two years, dying at the age of S4 in 1774.* The love she had for the Duke may, in no small degree, be im agined from the following anecdote: Though in her sixty-third year she still possessed some attractions, insomuch that she was sought in marriage bv Lord Conningshy and the Duke of Somerset. What her answer was to the former is, we believe, nowhere upon record. That to the Duke of Somerset is highly char acteristic, and greatly to be admired : “ Mar riage is very unsuitable at my age ; but, were I only thirty, I would aot permit even the em peror of the world to succeed in that heart which has been, all my life, devoted to John. Duke of Marlborough.”— Frazer's Magazine. TIIE UNION OF THE STATES, AND THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE STATES. AARON BURR AND HIS DAUGHTER. The history of every nation is fraught with romantic incidents. England has the story of Alfred, Scotland of her Wallace, her Bruce, tier Mary, and tier Charles Stuart, Ireland her Fitzgerald, France her Man with the Iron mask and Maria Antoinette, Poland her Tha leus, and Russia her Siberian Exiles. But we very much doubt whether any exceeds in in terest the singularly touchtng story of Aaran Burr ami his highly accomplished, his beauti ful and devoted daughter Theodosia. The rise and fall of Burr in the affections of his countrymen, are subjects of deep historical in terest. A t one time we see him carried on the wave of popular favor to such giddy heights that the Presidency itself seemed almost with in iiis grasp, which lie only missed to become the second officer in the new Republic. He became Vice President of the United States. How rapid his rise ! and then his fall, how sudden, lmvv complete ! In consequence of his duel with Hamilton he became a fugitive from justfee—is indicted for murder by the Grand Jury of New Jersey—shes to the South—lives for a few months in obscurity, until Ihe meeting of Congress, when lie comes forth and takes the Chair as President of the Senate. After tiis term expires, he goes to the West, becomes the leading spirit in a scheme of ambition to invade Mexico; (very few will now believe that lie sought a dismemberment of the Union) —is brought back a prisoner of state to R'clm’ond, charged with treason —tried and acquitted—is forced to leave his native land to go to Europe. In England he is suspected, and retires to France, where he lives in reduced circumstances, at times not being able to procure a meal of vicluais. Al ter an absence of several years he finds means to return home—he lands in Boston without a cent in his pocket, an object of distrust to all. Burr had no tidings of his daughter since his departure from home ; he was anxOtis to hear from her, her husband, and her boy, an only child, in whom his whole soul seemed hound up. The first news he heard was, that his grandchild died while he an outcast in foreign lands, which stroke of Providence he fell keenly, lor he dearly loved the boy. Theodosia, the daughter of Burr was the wife of Govenor Allston, of South Carolina. She was married young, and while her father was near the zenith of his fame. She was beautiful and accomplished, a lady of the finest fee’ings, an elegant wri ter, a devoted wife, a fond moiher, at.d a most dutiful and loving daughter, who clung with redoubled affection to the fortunes of her fa ther as the clouds of adversity gathered a round him, and lie was deserted by the friends whom he formerly cherished. The first duty Burr performed after Ins arrival here was to to acquaint Mrs. Allston ot his return. She immediately wrote back to him that she was coming to see him, and would meet him in a few weeks in New York. This letter was couched in the most affectionate terms, and is another evidence of the purity and power of woman’s love. In the expectation of seeing his daughter in a few days, Burr received much pleasure.— She had become Ids all on earth. Wife, grandchild, friends and all were gone; his daughter alone remained to cheer and solace the evening of his life, and to welcome him back from his exile. Days passed on—then months, yet naught was heard of Mr. Allston. Burr grew impatient, and began to think that she too had left him, so apt is misfortune to doubt the sincerity of friendship. At length lie received a letter from Mr. Allston, inquir. ing if his wife had arrived safe, and stating that she sailed from Charleston some weeks previous, in a vessel chartered by him on pur pose to eonvev her to New York. Not re ceiving any tidings of her arrival he was anx ious to learn the cause ol her silence. What had occurred to delay the vessel? why had it not arrived—these were questions which Burr could ask himself hut no one could answer. The sequel is soon told. The vessel never arrived. It undoubtedly founded at sea, and all on board perished. No tidings have ever been heard respecting the vessel, the crew or the daughter of Aaron Burr—all were lost.— This last sad bereavement was only required to fill Burr’s cup of sorrow. “The last link was broken” which bound him to life. The uncertainty of her fate hut added to the poig nancy of his grief. Hope, the last refuge of the afflicted, became extinct when years had rolled on, and yet uo tidings of tbe loved and lost one were gleaned. Burr lived in New Yoik until ilie year 1836, (we beheve) when lie died. The last years of his life were passsd in comparative obscurity. Some few old friends who had never wholly deserted him, were Ids compan ions ; they closed his eyes in death ami lol lowed his body to the grave, where it will rest till the trump of the Almighty shall call it in to judgement. Such is a brief sketch of ihe latter part of the strange and eventful history of Aaron Burr. None of the family now live —it has become extinct—and his name but lives in the histo ry of his countiy and in the remembrance of those who knew him. ANTIQUITIES OF WES'I MINSTER. United to London as Westminster now is* and covered with hundreds of houses, few people imagine that this populous place was once an Island divided from Uie main land by the Thames, and originally denominated Tlior ney Island, from its being entirely overgrown with thorns and bramb.es. It was first join ed to the main land by Matilda,Queen ol Hen ry 1., who built a bridge over the river in King street, at the east end of Gardener’s lane. — The first house in Westminster according to Stow, was Durham House, built by Thomas Hatfield, bishop of that see. Pennant, how ever, savs, it was originally erected by Antho ny de Deck, in the reign of Edward I.; on the site ol this house stands the present Adel plii. In the time of Elizabeth there were but lew houses, chiefly consisting of inns for the accommodation of people who had suits in the courts of law, and poor cottages with small gardens. The antiquity of the Palace ot Westminster is uncertain, but Stow mentions that Edward the Confessor re-ided and died in it. The ancient edifice originally formed the east and south sides of Old Palace Yard. Its east side contained the Court ol requests, the Painted Chamber, the Old House oi L *rds, the Prince’s Chamber, and many nameless old apartments adjoining. Those on the south cannot now be ascertained, as no remnant is in existence. Al ter being left in a ruinous state for years, it is said to have been inhabi ted by Queen Elizabeth, and the inner room in which the Court of Exchequer sits, is repor ted to have been her bed-chamber. The outer ro -m at the topol the steps from West minster Hall, is said to have been used by the Queen as a concert or breakfast room. At iMe upper end of the hall was a marble table or bench, 19 feet long, and three feet broad. The Court of King’s bench having been built over them, search was made for these relics in the commencement of ihe present century, but without success. The title of Court ol King's Ilench is supposed to have been deriv ed from this marble table. Formcily the on ly coach road to the houses of Parliament was in so miserable a condition, that lagots were thrown into the ruts on the day the King went to Parliament, to render the passage of tiie state carriage easier. At the end of St. Mar garet’s street, in Old Palace Yard, stood the ancient brick buildings called Heaven and Purgatory ; within the precincts of Purgatory, was preserved the ducking stool, employed by tiie Burgesses of Westminster for the pun ishment ol scolds. ‘The angry lady was strap ped in a chair, fastened by an iron pin to one end of a long pole, suspended in the middle bv a lofty trestle, which being placed near the shore of the Thames allowed the terrified cul prit to be immersed in the river; when the lady’s temper was supposed to be cooled by a few plunges, she was exposed, dripping and humbled, to the laugh of her neighbors.— \\ hat would our modern Xantippes think of such a summary method of restoring peace ;.nd harmony ? TIIE RATTLESNAKE BITE. A FOREST ADVENTURE. In one of my hunting excursions abroad on a fine morning, I was accompanied by my wife, I left my companion for a short time, in pursuit of game, and in climbing a rugged ledge ol rocks interspersed with shrubs and dwarfish trees, I was startled by a quick gra ting rattle. 1 looked forward. On the edge of a loosened rock lay a large ll.tie Snake, coiling himself up, as if for the deadly spring. He was within a iew feet of me; and 1 paus ed for an instant to survey him. I know not why, but I stood still and looked at the dead ly serpent with a strange feeling of curiosity. Suddenly he unwound his coil as relenting from his* purpose of hostility, and raising Ins head, he tixed his bright they eyes directly upon my own. A chilling and indescribable sensation, totally different from any thing I had ever before experienced, lollowed tins movement of the serpent; hut l stood stiff and gazed steadily and earnestly, for that moment there was a visible change in the reptile.— His form seemed to grow larger and his col or brighter. His body moved with a slow, almost imperceptible motion towards me, and a low hum of music came from him —or at least it sounded in my ear—a strange sweet melody, faint as that which melts irom the throat of the humming bird. Tnen the tint of his body deepened and changed to a beau tiful kaleidescope—green, purple, and gold, un til I lost sight of the serpent enrirely, and only saw wild, curiously woven circles of strange colors quivering around me like an atmos phere of rainbows. 1 seemed in the centre of a great prism—a world of mysterious colors; and the tints varied and darkened and lighted up again around me, and the low sweet mu sic went on without ceasing until my brain reeled, and fear for the first time, came like a shadow over me. The new sensation gained rapidly, and I could feel the cold sweat gush ing from my brow. 1 had no certainty of dan ger in niv mind —all definite ideas of peril were vague ami clouded, like the unaccounta ble terrors of a dream—and vet my limbs shook, and I fancied 1 could feel the blood stif fening with cold as it passed along my veins. I would have given worlds to have been able to hear myself from the spot —I even attempt ed to do, hut the body obeyed not the impulse of tbe mind—not a muscle stirred ; and I stood still, as if my feet had grown to the solid rock, with the infernal anisic of the temper in my ear, and tiie baleful coloring of his enchant ment before me. Suddenly anew sound came upon my ear —it was a human voice ; but seemed strange and awful. Again—again- but 1 stirred not; and then a white form plunged before me, and grasped my arm. The horrid spell was at once broken. The strange colors passed from before my vision. The rattlesnake was coil ing at my feet, with glowing eyes, uplifted fangs, and my wife clinging with terror upon me. The next instant the serpent threw him self upon us. My wife was the victim! The fatal fangs pierced deeply in her hand, and screams of agony as she staggeied backwards from me, told me the dreadful truth. Then it was that a feeling of madness came upon me; and when I saw the foul serpent stealing away from his work of death, reck less of danger I sprang forward and crushed him under my leet, grinding him to pieces on the ragged rock. The groans of my wife now recalled me to her side, and to the hor rible reality of her situate n. There was a dark livid spot on her hand, and it deepened into blackness, as 1 led Iter away. We were a considerable distance from any dwelling;— and after wan ’ering fora short time, the pain of tiie wound became insupportable to my wife, and she swooned away in my arms.— Weak and exhausted as I was, I vet had strength enough remaining to carry her to the nearest rivulet and bath her brow in cold wa ter. She partially recovered and sat down upon the bank, while I supported Iter head up on my bosom. Hour after hour passed away, and none came near us—and there in the great wilderness she died. From the North American. The following is contained in a letter from Charles Cassidy, Esq, of Tennessee, to a gen tleman in Philadelphia: A short time since, as I returned from Sumner county. 1 called and spent a few days with Gen. Jackson at the Hermitage, not having seen him lor the long lapse of more titan sixteen years. On contemplating once more the venerable figure of the old warrior, attenuated almost to physical debility, and being surrounded by the old domestics and the objects contemplated in former years, a faithful memory, as Tom Moore somewhere say’s “brought the light of other days around me.” The mind of General Jackson seems to re tain its former vigor, promptitude and unben ding decision of character; nor lias age, for lie told me he was in his seventy fourth year dimmed the clear lustre of his deep bltje eye, or subdued the keenness of his sensibilities, the quickness of his perceptions, or the ener gy of his feelings. He is the same Andrew Jackson in m n I, sentiment and enthusiasm ofleeling that I comtemplated thirty years ago ; the same who slept composedly upon a blanket among his staff officers and the com mon soldiery through the Creek Indian war; the same man who defended New Orleans, when even the legislative body’ of Louisiana would have dictated a capitulation ; the man whose decision compelled the piratical nations of Europe tor disgorge their plunder'of our commerce on the ocean, in the apprehension of a species of diplomacy peculiarly his own, and which he employed in his negotiations with the Govenor of Florida —“the mouths of his cannon.” In the lapse of sixteen years, his hair has changed from a light red color, in terspersed with white or grey, to entirely white ; his teeth arc nearly or quite gone, and his voice, which formerly had great depth, and strength of tone and articulation, is much less sharp and clear in its cadences and volume. It surprised me considerably, that with all t l ese bodily changes incidental to age and great exposure to the hardships of warfare, his mind and feelings seemed in nowise im paired; and while contemplating this fact, which do< • not occur with many under similar circumstances. I drew much consolation from the inference that tiie example before me ar gued well for the immortality of the intellectual powers of our race! For if the mind and memory do not become impa'.reJ from the rav- ages of time on the physical system, the mind can exist without the incumbrance of the body which we know to be liable to change of in dentity ; at least so says our great teacher of wisdom, philosophy. Is it not surprising, sir, to reflect that there are so few of our biographers of conspicuous men who furnish their readers with a personal description of the man whose moral and men ial character they are affecting to delineate through the medium of mere achievement ? Do not these writers see every day that their biographies pass for nnihing wherever it is practicable to behold in person the object of their delineations? Who for instance would not throw down the “life of General Andrew Jackson,” written by any man you may please to name, to see the hero himself in person ; to note his manners, and to hear the tones and cadences of his voice in conversa tion, and to mark the ease and dignity of his gesticulation ? The majority of biograpers have yet to learn the intelligency and futility of all their productions; they have yet to learn that the human face was never the herald of a lie, and that g-aphic delinea tion of every physical attribute of man is es sential to the full developsment of his moral aid mental character ;in fact, if I may so ex press myself, that the mind of every reader ol biography requires n physical object the hu man body, on which to suspend the moral and mental drapery of internal character. 1 am aware that this is new doctrine; but it is no less true than novel, and solves at once the enigma that the productions of mere novel writers are always preferred to those of our best biographers. 1 have never yet perused a biography that had not precisely the defects I have mentioned. All the biographies of Na poleon in this way are deficient, and materi ally so ; the writers did not know, or thought it beneath them to consider that every person al shape and attribute of nan, the face, the hand, the foot, the voice, the action, and eve ry thing describable in painting, sculpture, and language, relating to human nature, are teeming and pregnant with moral and mental character! They leave the imagination to wander in mazes of doubt and conjecture re specting the appearance of the object whose character they are attempting to delineate by a jumble oi mere abstractions ; nor do they ever leave a definite portrait on the tablet of memory by which the hero of their delinea tions may be distinguished Imm another man. These are some of the reasons, sir, why we rise from the persual of modern biographies with more or less of dissatisfaction, disap pointment and disgust. Where Shakspeare speaks of “Warwick’s black looks,” and de scribes him as “the proud puller down and setter up ot kings ;” where Ossinn describes Fingal by telling us that “the look of his blue rolling eye was wide beneath the dark arch of liis brow, and that the bottom of his chari ot was the footstool of heroes,” we seem in fan cy to see the heroes themselvas, and to have a personal portrait of each with which to blend and inocrporate the moral bravery and intellectual energies of their characters. All this, the offspring of true genius, is wanting in the modern biographies of our own arid the conspicuous men ofother nations. From the Federal Union. THE DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION. A large portion of our columns to-day are occupied by the proceedings of several coun ties in relation to the Convention to he held here in May next. The resolutions adopted at their meetings are expressive of spirit and feeling in support of Democratic principles; and the movements made and making, evi dences a zeal and confidence which warrants the belief that there will he a larger assem blage of the “good and true” friends and ad vocates of Republican doctrines, than was anticipated by many. Notices of meetings and appointments of delegates are pouring in upon us from every quarter. Numerous dele gations are named already for several coun ties. Some of the most able, eloquent and eficient young men of the State, we notice, are chosen ; and the prospect opens fair now for a goodly number of such spirits being in attendance. The deliberations of the body will doubtless be interesting ; and the fire of enthusiasm that will be enkindled from the debates and counsels of the body, will, it is beiieved, enliven the feelings and action of the whole party. Much good, and a zeal and elibrt, it is hoped, will be inspired, equalled only by the devotion of the party to the prin ciples ol Democracy, the cause of the people, and the good of the country. The signs ol the times auger well for a triumph in the com ing elections. With the feeling and detemin ation which seems to be pervading the whole party in every section, vve entertain great hopes for the successful accomplishment of the ascendancy of the Democratic party in the Slate. Much is (o be done and expected from ihe general representation to be bad in the Convention, and from its action in refer ence to the important measures to be discussed and adopted. Several distinguished gentleman of the par ty have been invited to attend the Convention, and will probably address (lie body during its session. Among the number, we learn, that the Hon. John Forsyth has, in a letter to the Chairman of the Executive Committee, prom ised to be here at that time. AtteMpt to Murder. —The Mobile Reg ister of the 29tb, ult. says* “On Saturday night about 9 o’clock, Mr. W. H. Hull of the firm of L. Hull &. Son of this city, while ri ding on the Spring Hiil road three and a half miles from the city, was fired at by a man on the roadside. The assassin fired at the dis tance ol ten or twelve paces, just as he was opposite to him, and the hall struck the bri dle arm, midway between the shoulder and elbow, and glanced across his breast in front. The position of the arm in holding the bridle, alone, providentially saved h.s life, for if the arm had been down in its natural position, the shot would have entered the body in its most vital part. The night was dark, and Mr. H. saw the figure of the man and the fLsh of the pistol, and being unarmed, expec ting another fire, and apprehending from the concussion, that he was badly hurt, he fled to the next house. Whether the assasin was instignated by malice, or an intent to commit highway rob bery, cannot even be guessed at, if the first be the cause, and if plunder were the object, the viilian would have committed unrequited murder. Not to be taken in. — A Hoosier at the American Theatre, on Saturday night, said that the six characters of Mrs. Fitzwilliam, in the play of V iddovv W iggins, were represen ted by six distinct and bona jlde actors, and that he did’nt come a!: the way from Illinois to he humbugged by such shallow invention as that bill of the performance—not saw through the whole of it. —N. O.N. Amer. Politeness on axe Occasions. —At a wed ding recently, which took place at the .altar, when the officialing priest put to the lady the home question, “Wilt thou take this man to be.thy wedded husband?” she dropped the prettiest curtesy, and with a modesty which lent her beauty an additional grace, replied ‘lf you please, sir. ’ Claiming simplicity. VOL. I. NO. 11. From the New World. JOHN TYLER, PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. John I yler, who, by a dispensation of Pro vidence. has become the legitimate President ofthe United States, is a native of that same county of Hanover in Virginia, which gave birth to our late lamented Chief Magistrate. In his political faith and attachment he is a democrat of ttie Jeffersonian school, and was one of the roost efficient supporters of the last war i;i the lower House of Congress. He has long been the friend of Henry Clay, anil was, at the Harrisburg Convention, one ofthe last who consented to the substitution of another candidate for the Presidency. In the Senate of the United Sfates, Mr. Tyler maintained a steady opposition to the measures of the late administration, until, in conformity with the Virginia doctrine of in struction, he resigned his seat. He has, how ever, in his recorded speeches, expressed him self opposed to the rechartering of a United States Rank, although it is believed that his opinions have undergone some modification upon this subject within the lasl two or three years. Certain it is, he is decidedly opposed to the Sub-Treasury scheme, and to the exer cise of the veto power by the President. From his personal appearance w£ should judge that Mr. Tyler was about fifty years of age. He is tall and slim in his figure, and stiongly reminds one of the published likeness of Patrick Henry. His hair is still unsilvered, and his countenance is indicative of n.aniy Irankness, courtesy, and amiability of temper. His manners are courtly and cordial, and his style of reception singularly gracious and pre possessing. In his demeanor as Vice Presi dent lie lias been remarkably modest and un obtrusive, indicating no disposition to interfere in the distribution of offices, or to bias the judgment of the Executive and his cabinet.— Indeed, he has been almost wholly overlooked by the managing politicians and leaders at Washington, inasmuch as his position, apart from the unlooked- r or contingency which lias now called him to the While House, was one of little more influence than that of an ordina ry Senator. Certain people will undoubtedly now be very active m attempts to make up for their past inattention. Mr. Tyler is a fluent and graceful speaker, although in personal intercourse he is by no means inclined to be garrulous. He is un questionably a man of sterling abilities and good sense, and will not be blinded and mould ed by any man or set of men. He is in the full vigor of all his faculties, and in the prime of life, without, even the sense of sight impaired.. We believe he will make a good, patrolie and wise President. Already some moanings have been raised by certain cliques of politicians among us, be cause of the fact that Mr. Tyler is from the South of the Potomac. With such malcon tents we have few sympathies. We want neither a Northern policy nor a Southern policy pursued in the conduct of our national affairs, but an American policy, not limited by State lines, but covering the whole Union in its capacious embrace, and still abiding al ways rigidly within the bounds of the Federal Constitution. Such will, we believe, be the policy of John Tyler; and to such will the majority of the people of the United States give their united and unfailing support. Ii cannot be denied that Mr. Webster, by his superior knowledge of public affairs, his aptitude, experience and vast ability, and the energy of his stronger will, was fast gaining an ascendency in the direction of things at Washington, which was almost irresistible.— He was virtually the premier of ihe adminis tration, and bad Gen. Harrison survived, his influence would probably have been para mount. The tables are now reversed. Mr. Clay and his friends come in for a share of influence—greater, no doubt, than the Web ster party can ever hope to exercise. It is our own persuasion that Mr. Webster will resign his seat in the Cabinet, and accept of the mis sion to England. The present aspect of our relations with Great Britain seems to call loudly for such an embassy, and we should rejoice to see our country represented abroad by a man so truly and eminently great as Daniel Webster. Stealing cn Credit. —A farmer in this State was once greatly puzzled by the sudden disappearance of his sheep. One after an other was missing from the flock, without any solution of the mystery—until at last, his sus picions rested on one of his neighbors. Ac cordingly, as the sheep disappeared, each one was entered on the book against the suspected man, and the price carried out. At the end of the year, the hill was sent to him—and with out making any words on the subject, he pru dently paid it. Another year passed, and the absence of a greater number of sl*ep had added numerous items to anew bill, which was presented, as on the previous. This time, however, the lover of mutton demurred—and insisted on its being reduced; protesting that he had not taken an eighth part of the num ber charged to him. But the creditor insisted upon every farthing. “ Well,” said sheepy, “if I must pay, I suppose I must; but the fact is. some scamp has been stealing on my credit.” —New Haven Register. A Confession. —A young convert in the country got up and was making a confession somewhat after this sort, viz: “I have been very wicked, indeed I have ; I have cheated many persons, very many ; but I -will restore four-foldwhen lie was interrupted by an old lady thus: “ Well, I should think before you confess much, you’d better marry Nancy Slebbins, as you agreed to!” Hope. —At sixteen, what sorrow can freeze the hope, or what prophetic fear whisper “fool” to the ambition 1 He would bear back into care and prosperity, if not into affluence and station, the dear ones left at home. From the eminence of five shillings a week he looked over the Promised Land. A singui.as CASE.—The Pittsburgh Ameri can of the ad instant, states that a man in Lewistown was supposed to have died from over-eating and drinking, and from some awk wardness in putting him in the coffin, which had been procured, he was suffered to fall on the floor. The shock had the effect to knock hfe again into him, for he immediately rose to inquire what they were about. lie refused to pay the funeral expenses, and the coffin maker and others have brought suit against him for their bills. This will be anew case, hardly to be found in the books. Privileges or Ladies in Leap Yeap..— ln an ancient Anglo-Saxon law, which still re mains in force, it is enacted : “Albeit as often as Lcape Ycare doatbe oc- Citrre, the woman holdctli the perogative over the nieiine, in matter of courtsliippe, love, and mairimonie; sue that when the ladie propo seth, it shall not he lawful for rnenijo to say nae, but shall receive her proposal in all good courtcsie.” A Pun.—A gentleman by the name of T<m-te, says the Portsmouth Journal, was fre quetuiy-praising an interesting young lady by calling ser a Belle, &c. A facet.ons lemaie friend observed to him that be had been t in° - i'lg "that belle long < uougti, and tube frank, -he w ?uid advtoC him now to make her a J’outle.